A simple act of kindness
by SnapeSeraphin
Summary: Hermione Granger. A cunning plan. A potion. The intended victim? Lucius Malfoy. Their objective? To dismantle his old prejudices. The outcome? Not exactly what they had in mind... AU to a degree. May contain slight DH spoilers.
1. Lucius and a Muggle

**Disclaimer**: not mine.

**AN**: Just a plot-bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. essentially a one-shot. Born out of a strong conviction there are too little HG/LM stories around ;-)

I was not entirely certain of the character development in this story, but shy-n-great managed to convince me it was okay to post (thank you for that, sis!).

Anyway, comments are welcomed; I definitely am willing to tweak this story a little.

Please, enjoy.

* * *

A Simple Act of Kindness

"Fuck!" Lucius Malfoy swore under his breath. Normally, he would consider vulgar terms like that beneath him, but tonight was truly a night that deserved the adjective.

First of all, the Dark Lord had been most seriously displeased with him. In all honesty -a quality Lucius rarely exhibited – he could not disagree. They had been given an order to abduct a fairly influential Ministry wizard who was a firm supporter of Dumbledore. The plan was solid, seeing that it was devised by Lucius himself, who was a brilliant strategist, if nothing else and they had encountered no problems at all in entering their target's house. Locating the master of the house and incapacitating the two house elves the man owned hadn't proven too difficult either and they had been on the point of Apparating the man to the predestined location, where the Dark Lord and some dozen of his faithful servants would be waiting for them, when the wizard's fifteen year old daughter had entered the room. The girl was brandishing her wand and even though she was trembling violently, Lucius had to admit that a small, very small part of him admired the girl for being so brave as to try to intervene. Stupid, but brave. After all, if there was one thing that inspired more loyalty in him than the Dark Lord, it would be his family.

That didn't stop him from sneering at the girl from behind his mask and disarming her almost languidly with a single spell. If the girl had had any brains to complement her bravery, she would have realized that one nervous fifteen-year old was no match for two of Voldemort's Death Eaters. No doubt the girl was a bloody Gryffindor. Their courage was inferior only to their stupidity. The only notable exception to that rule was Miss Hermione Granger. Not that he had seen her recently, but the Dark Lord was keeping taps on her and he got a lot of his information on her from Lucius' own son. Again, he wouldn't admit it to anyone but himself, but the older Malfoy had a grudging respect for the girl's intelligence and her ability to hold her own in a world she didn't even know existed until she was eleven.

Up until that moment, everything had gone as well as anyone could hope for. And then that lecherous old fool Avery had to go and blow it all. Lucius had instructed him to kill the girl and be done with it, but the other Death Eater had entreated him to let him have his fun with the girl first.

"Oh for heaven's sake, just get it over with, quickly," he'd snapped and he didn't need to see his companion's face behind the mask, to be able to imagine the delighted leer. He had witnessed the other man's depravities one too many times.

Avery had dragged the girl to the corner and while he tore the clothes from her body, her father pleaded with Lucius to have mercy, to take him, anything to spare his daughter.

Lucius had viciously snarled, "Silence!" before subjecting the man to a rather nasty curse which made whoever was subjected to it feel as if their intestines were pulled inside out. Or was it like every blood vessel in one's body was on fire? He frowned at his own little slip of memory and, while the man was howling in agony on the floor, resolved to look it up in his private library when he got home that night.

With Avery forcing himself on the girl and himself pleasantly occupied with trying to refresh his knowledge on the obscure spell he was subjecting his victim to, Malfoy's formidable senses had been engaged to the point that there was an opportunity to catch him off guard. It lasted no more than half a second, but it was enough. The moment the realisation hit him that there was someone standing behind him, a heavy object was brought down on the back of his head and the world turned black almost instantaneously.

When he regained consciousness, he had only had enough time to use his emergency Portkey, to avoid capture. Needless to say, Lord Voldemort was less than pleased. When he had finally managed to apparate to the agreed location, he had been an hour late and Avery, the filthy rat, had already reported what had happened and naturally managed to present the whole matter as if Lucius was the one to blame.

He could of course have argued, but the Dark Lord was not the sort of person whom you told that the owl ate your homework. So he took the punishment his master saw fit to dole out and swore to himself that the moment he got Avery alone, the man would learn once and for all that it was very unwise indeed to cross Lucius Malfoy.

By the time the meeting was over, his vision was starting to blur and he knew that he had not much time to get home. Trying to concentrate over the rushing in his ears, he Apparated.

When his feet once again found solid ground, he opened his eyes, to find that he was not standing in front of the imposing gates of his Manor. He didn't recognize his surroundings and to make things worse, he appeared to be in the middle of a Muggle neighbourhood. While he was momentarily stunned by the predicament he found himself in, it started to rain. That's when the normally eloquent wizard found that his extensive vocabulary contained no words better suited to describe his sentiments than a heartfelt 'fuck'.

He looked up at the sky, one elegant eyebrow pulled up, as if to show he was most seriously displeased with the weather gods for having the audacity to let it rain on him. Then, deciding that he had to find out most expediently where he was exactly, so that he might locate a public floo-portal, he was about to pull his wand out of his sleeve, when one of those infernal machines the Muggles used for transportation came barrelling around the corner and stopped not three feet from him. In the condition he was presently in, keeping a low profile until he could get home was most likely to assure that he would be getting home in one piece tonight. Well, at least as much in one piece as he was currently. Stepping back into the shadows, Lucius sneered at the primitive vehicle as a, from the looks of it, female Muggle got out and held an odd, more or less circular shaped object over her head, probably to keep from getting wet. If he had known Hagrid a little better, he might have seen the similarities between the object the Muggle woman was holding and the odd, pink thing the half-giant carried around with him.

To his annoyance, the woman bent over and talked to someone inside of the yellow monstrosity and didn't seem in a hurry to go inside. The throbbing at the back of his head was steadily worsening and his fingers itched to hex the living daylights out of the stupid Muggle. Unfortunately, in the condition he was currently in, that would probably take the last of his powers and he had no intention of dying in a way as humiliating as a severe pneumonia. So he clenched his teeth together tightly and pressed closer to the wall.

After what felt like an eternity to him, the woman straightened and said loud enough for him to hear: "Well, if that's how you feel, than I don't think I want to see you anymore!" The door was closed and as the woman took a step back, the yellow thing drove off.

By now the pounding in Lucius' head was all but drowning out everything that was happening around him. Only through sheer force of will was he able to prevent the black clouds hovering at the edges of his vision to take him over and pull him into a soothing oblivion, until he could get out of this place.

He could not have said how much time had passed when he felt a hand on his shoulder and a concerned, female voice asking him softly if he were all right.

Despite his formidable self-control he flinched lightly at her touch. If she had been able to get this close to him, touching him even without him noticing, he must be in worse shape than he had already thought. To be snuck up on by a mere _Muggle_…. Lucius shuddered in disgust.

He wanted to snarl at her, tell her to get her filthy hand off of him and leave him the hell alone. He wanted to hex her into oblivion. Yet all that managed to pass his lips was: "I have felt better…" just before his body started shaking in post-Cruciatus agony.

He felt the woman slide an arm around his waist and she started to guide him somewhere. She was talking to him, her tone of voice soothing, but he didn't understand a word she was saying.

Knowing that he was too weak to get home on his own and that the Muggle was apparently willing to help him, he allowed himself to be guided towards a house. He'd take some time to regain his strength, and dispose of her afterwards, he decided when he walked with her to the best of his abilities. Finally, he fell onto the soft pillows of a deep grey sofa, with little to no recollection of how he'd gotten there.

The Muggle woman was talking to him again while she took off her coat, but he was unable to concentrate on the words. His eyelids were drooping and he felt his head sink to the side, as his consciousness was starting to fade. Knowing that he was in an unknown environment and he would be almost totally unguarded when unconscious, he made an effort to stay awake. He focussed his attentions on the Muggle, now kneeling in front of a cosy-looking fireplace.

Within minutes, a fire was blazing merrily and warming his tired bones. He hadn't realised until now, but he had forgotten to cast an Impervius spell and therefore was soaked to the skin because of the rain. He was shivering, both from the after-effects of Cruciatus and from the cold.

The Muggle walked over to the door and while one hand reached down to slide off a high-heeled shoe, the other reached out to a small, white square on the wall. As soon as her fingers touched it, the room was flooded with light from a lamp overhead.

Lucius blinked owlishly at the sudden light while the Muggle took off the other shoe as well. Now that the room was properly lighted, he could see that she wore a long, elegant, dark blue gown. Folds of fabric were draped from one shoulder to the other and fell gracefully around her chest. The fabric hugged her slim waist flaring to the ground in sleek waves. She only wore a thin silver chain, with a long, tear-shaped pendant for jewellery. Her dark curls were pulled up in soft waves around her face, with a few mischievous strands escaping at the neck. When she crossed the room to where he sat on the sofa, modest silver patterns on the lower half of the skirt caught his attention, as the thin fabric swirled around her feet and trailed after her on the floor.

As far as Muggles went, this one was quite pretty, Lucius decided as the woman turned her deep-brown eyes on him in concern. She knelt in front of him, looking up into his eyes without reserve.

"Can you tell me what is the matter; where are you hurt?" she asked him. Her voice was pleasant; feminine and warm. It really was a pity she was a mere Muggle and he was going to have to kill her. Had she been a pureblood witch, he probably would have been rather interested in getting to know her better. As it was, he was hard pressed not to scrunch his nose at the filth surrounding him.

"I am not hurt," he countered, frowning. And he wasn't. He was only suffering the after-effects of the Cruciatus and a couple of other curses that were rather nasty. Nothing the potions in his private bathroom at the Manor couldn't cure. The problem was getting there.

The woman shook her head at him. "There's blood in your hair," she stated and had the audacity to touch some of the wet strands plastered to his robes. As she held them up for his inspection, he saw that they were indeed painted in a telltale reddish-brown.

Automatically, his hand came up to touch the back of his head. He could feel a rather large bump there and what appeared to be a gash: his hair was sticky. Damn. He was fairly adept at healing charms, but a wound in such an inaccessible place was highly inconvenient. And he was not going to ask Narcissa to cast the spell for him: that woman was no better at charms than the average Hufflepuff. The only spells he trusted her to handle were glamour charms.

The Muggle had been studying him while he tried to ascertain the extent of his injury, still in a crouch in front of him.

"Is it still bleeding?" she asked, "let me have a look."

And before he could protest, she had pulled his head forward and was gently moving aside the long blond tresses so that she could see how serious the gash was. The aristocratic wizard was outraged at the fact that the Muggle was touching him and combing her filthy hands through his hair without as much as asking if she was allowed. He abandoned his plans to kill the infernal creature that night in favour of going home to take his potions and then come back the next night so that he could hex her properly before he finished her off. Yes, that would be much preferable, he mused, almost smiling.

He jerked out of her grasp as best he could, considering the state he was in and struggled to sit up and stare down at her imperiously. Unfortunately, his attempts were thwarted by the fact that violent tremors shook his body at that precise moment. The steadily worsening after-effects of the curses his Lord had subjected him to were indicating that his physical condition was deteriorating fast.

The Muggle, of course, misunderstood.

"Oh you poor man! You must be so cold, you're soaked through!" She got up and gently pushed him back to rest against the generous pillows strewn over the sofa. Muttering softly under her breath, she swiftly walked out of the room. Moments after she had disappeared through a door to the left of the fireplace light spilt into the room from what appeared to be the kitchen. Lucius could hear water running and some unfamiliar sounds. Taking the opportunity to study his surroundings while he was unobserved, he took in the decoration of the room he was in. The cosy sofa he'd been dropped onto was part of a comfortable sitting area grouped around a low, hardwood table in front of the fireplace. The soft grey of the sofa coloured quite nicely with the dark floor and the cream-coloured walls. There was a pair of double doors with large glass panels that looked like they would lead to a garden or patio of some sort. Large windows would probably allow for a practically unhindered view of the garden, but seeing that it was dark outside, the panes of glass surrounded by sleek ivory drapes showed nothing but the night sky. The room wasn't big by any stretch of the imagination. Lucius rather thought his closet was bigger than the room he was in at the moment. But the light, natural colours and well thought out furniture choice gave the room a pleasant feel. Well, except of course for the fact that the house screamed 'Muggles live here' to him.

By the time his thoughts had arrived at this point, the Muggle came back in the room and Lucius inwardly braced himself to endure her ministrations. She only gave him a quick, reassuring smile when she passed him though, which he didn't return, and disappeared back through the door they had entered through. He heard someone quickly jogging up wooden stairs, the sound of a door opening and almost immediately after her quick footsteps as she came down again.

As she entered the living room she was carrying a thick, but worn looking light blue garment of some sort.

"We have to get you out of those wet clothes; you'll catch a pneumonia like this," she declared. But before she could put that truly horrendous plan of disrobing him into action, there were a couple of strange sounds from the kitchen. At first there was a sound that resembled the whirling of water or maybe even the sound that Severus's potions made on a high flame, then there was a rather sharp 'tack' and the whirling sound ceased almost immediately.

Evidently the sound was perfectly comprehensible to the Muggle, since her face lit up and she eagerly threw the light blue bundle on the sofa next to him and disappeared into the kitchen again.

This time as she entered the living room, she was carrying a teapot made of delicate porcelain that looked hand-painted. Even Lucius had to admit it was very pretty. She set it on the table and got back to the kitchen to fetch some teacups, made of the same delicate porcelain. She knelt in front of the low hardwood table and poured some tea into a cup. She added a generous dollop of honey and stirred it. Turning back to face him she repeated her last remark.

Lucius shook his head rather vehemently. He did not want to be touched by the Muggle again and he most certainly did not want to take off his robes. He never took off his robes unless he was at home, at the Manor. After all, they were quite useful in intimidating people.

The woman studied him for a moment and apparently had enough common sense to see that he was not going to budge. She gave a small nod, reached for the teacup and offered it to him.

"It's herbal tea with honey. It should get you warm. There's more if you want."

Lucius took the cup from her. In spite of being in the home of a lowly Muggle, tea sounded rather lovely for he was cold. He took a suspicious sniff of the brew before taking a sip though. One never knew what kind of sludge these Muggles cooked up.

To his cold nose the tea smelled heavenly. It was somewhat different from the wizarding tea flavour, but nice nevertheless. What was more, he couldn't detect anything in the mixture other than the tea and honey he had seen her pour into the cup himself. Satisfied that the beverage, although maybe quaint, was not dangerous to him, he lifted it to his lips.

The Muggle, having seen all this, didn't seem to think his behaviour was strange in any way. Probably thought he was trying to ascertain if the flavour agreed with him. He couldn't really care.

The first sip that slithered down his throat elicited a tingly feeling of warmth, spreading from his stomach through his chest and belly. The second, larger sip had the warmth starting to spread to his arms and legs. Before he realised it, the cup was empty and he was starting to feel content with the warm feeling in his stomach.

Without a word from him, the Muggle took the cup from his hands and poured him another one, again adding a spoonful of honey. He took it eagerly this time, his hands trembling less than before and savoured the spicy flavour and the warmth of his drink.

The woman was watching him while he drank, but he was hardly aware of it. If he had been, he might have wondered about the intensity with which she studied him. Lucius, however, was rather immersed in enjoying the wonderful warmth spreading, driving away some of the shivers that ran through his body. By the time he finished his second cup, a feeling of well-being and contentment had spread through him to the extent that he was almost ready to close his eyes and just fall asleep, in spite of post-Cruciatus tremors and wet clothes.

The Muggle reached for the cup and gently disentangled it from his fingers. He let her. When her hands came up to the clasp of his cloak, there was a light frown on his forehead; something niggling in the back of his mind told him that he shouldn't allow her to undo his robes, but the thought didn't quite solidify. After having accepted the drink from her his reasons for not allowing her to take off the cumbersome, wet garment were fading into the background.

He gazed at the Muggle as she undid the clasp, his silver eyes intent on hers. The eyes that looked back at him were wide, brown and had an almost childlike innocence in them that he rarely saw in a woman her age. Perhaps it was the company he kept, he thought. As she pushed the cloak off of his shoulders the distance between the two of them diminished as a result. In contrast to his earlier aversion, he very nearly leaned into her touch, letting a faint smell of vanilla-and-orange caress his nostrils. Foggily, he wondered why he had been so reluctant to come close to her earlier. She really was quite pretty. And that smell was delicious…unassuming and therefore much more to his tastes than the expensive, obtrusive perfumes Narcissa appeared to bathe in.

He jerked away from her, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

"What are you trying to do?" he demanded. Inwardly, he cringed at his own question. So much for Slytherin cunning…

The Muggle had the audacity to quirk her mouth at him.

"I am trying to keep you from catching pneumonia," she said in a tone of voice one would use when dealing with a particularly slow three-year-old. He tried to loosen her grip on his cloak, which was still hanging halfway around his shoulders. "You're shivering," the Muggle pointed out reasonably.

As if on cue, a violent tremor shook his body. Now that the outer layer of his clothing, soaked as it may have been, was partly removed, the cold started to assault his senses anew. He told himself that was the only reason he relented.

The creature made an approving sound. As she proceeded to peel his wet cloak from his body, he was once again wrapped in the scent of orange and vanilla. Unable to resist, he closed his eyes. The voice in the back of his mind, which sounded remarkably like he himself had earlier that night and was demanding to know what in Riddle's name he was thinking, was growing fainter.

When small hands undid the buttons of his robes and divested him of those as well, leaving him in his shirt, while cooing softly to him that it would be all right, that he would be warmer soon, it grew fainter still. He hardly noticed the insidious cold seeping into his bones with renewed vigour or the shudder that wracked his body.

Then, there was warmth. As he opened his eyes in surprise, he noticed that the Muggle had pulled the light-blue garment around his shoulders. It was soft, thick and if he didn't know better he'd have thought a warming charm had been cast upon it.

"There," the woman said with a soft smile, "I always keep it hanging over the radiator. It'll get you nice and warm in no time." Lucius didn't know what a radiator was nor did he care. The blissful warmth that was spreading through his body from the outside was very satisfying. He was beyond protesting as she gently pulled his hair from under the garment.

"Now, let me take another look at your head," she insisted. Once again her hands pushed aside the silvery locks, but this time he wasn't nearly as appalled as he had been the first time. He closed his eyes again and allowed himself to drift off on a cloud of her warm scent.

Barely aware of anything but the comforting warmth and the pleasant smell he let her clean the gash at the back of his head, then gently wash the dried blood out of his hair.

Finally satisfied, she pushed him back into the cushions of the sofa. Preparing another cup of the wonderfully fragrant tea for him, she looked at him compassionately.

"Are you going to press charges? I could testify, you know."

Lucius frowned. "Press charges?" he repeated dimly.

"You were mugged, right?" the woman asked, looking him over with concern.

The wizard curled his fingers around the delicate cup in his hands and stared down into the honey-coloured liquid. Try as he might, he found himself unable to come up with a half-way plausible lie. He was startled out of his reverie when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Are you all right?"

He looked up and locked gazes with the creature. Dear Merlin, she was beautiful. How could an average Muggle look so pretty? And why did she smell so good? More importantly, since when did he care? He was the Dark Lord's second-in-command, for Riddle's sake, he wasn't supposed to care what Muggles looked like, let alone come close enough to one of them to ascertain what they smelled like. They were filthy, unworthy creatures that were beneath him.

So why, when he stared into her eyes, did he feel so gratified by the concern he saw there?

His silence and obvious confusion convinced the woman in front of him that he was too upset to deal with what had happened. Her eyes grew even softer if that was at all possible and her hand came up to rest on his shoulder.

"It's alright," she soothed and gave his shoulder a soft squeeze, "finish your tea."

She got up from her position in front of him and seated herself in a comfortable chair to his right. While he sipped his tea Lucius felt himself relaxing further to the sounds of the crackling fire. He studied his benefactor's profile, his gaze sliding from her face to her feminine dress and ending at the dainty little toes peeking out from under the hem of her skirts. She was like a vision of a flesh-and-blood muse, the folds of the midnight fabric flowing around her like waves. To the wizard's tired mind that observation didn't even seem wrong anymore.

The peaceful atmosphere was suddenly disturbed by a loud pop. Before the Muggle woman was halfway out of her chair, a menacing voice had spoken 'Stupefy'. The blue yet of light that came from an ebony wand hit her squarely in the chest, causing her to fall back into the chair, her arms hanging limply over the sides.

Lucius felt an inexplicable wave of regret wash over him when he looked at the Muggle, who looked nothing more than a girl now, her pale neck vulnerable and exposed due to the fact that her head hung to one side. He put his teacup down and looked up to see Severus Snape in his black Death Eater robes but sans mask standing next to the fireplace.

"Getting comfortable, Lucius?" he asked sardonically.

"What are you doing here?" the blond wizard bit out.

"Narcissa was worried when you didn't come home; she called me."

Lucius wanted to know how the raven-haired wizard had divined his location, but found that he was too tired to be bothered to ask. He got up from the sofa he'd been sitting on shrugging off the garment the Muggle had draped around his shoulders. His body was once again assaulted by the cold and an unwelcome sensation of dizziness. For a moment he swayed unsteadily and the Potions Master grabbed his arm to steady him.

A pale fine-boned hand disappeared inside the folds of his robes and when it re-emerged, it held a vial with a pearly lilac potion. Lucius recognized it immediately as the potion he had been longing for for the better part of the evening: it was designed to counter-act the after-effects of the Cruciatus. He took it from the potions master's hand and emptied it without hesitation.

He didn't even have time to realise that something was amiss as his vision turned black for the second time that evening and he fell to the ground in a dead faint.

- - - -

"Enervate!"

Hermione Granger opened her eyes to look up into the stern features of one Severus Snape. To be honest, it was rather intimidating to open one's eyes to the sight of the dark Professor standing over her, his wand pointed straight at her. In a split second, however her thoughts returned to something much more important.

"Did it work?" she asked eagerly.

"See for yourself," he commented as he held out his hand to her.

She allowed him to pull her from the chair and smiled at the sight that met her eyes.

Lucius Malfoy was stretched out on her sofa looking for all the world as if he had just fallen asleep there. On the table there was a telltale empty potions vial with just a hint of a pearly lilac potion in it, disabusing anyone of the idea the blond was merely sleeping.

For a fleeting moment, the young Gryffindor thought the powerful wizard looked very handsome and oh-so innocent like that. His features were for once not distorted by that horrible perpetual sneer and the surprisingly dark lashes rested like butterfly kisses against the pale cheekbones. Yes, the older Malfoy was a handsome man indeed.

"How much of the potion did you get him to drink?" Snape asked her breaking through her ruminations.

"He had about three cups of tea."

"And the conditioning? Did it work?"

"At the beginning of the evening he wouldn't let me touch him, he loosened up after I gave him the tea. Before you came he had allowed me to clean the wound on the back of his head, nearly burrowing his head on my shoulder."

The Potions Master gave her a small nod of approval. "That should suffice," he commented absent-mindedly. He was staring down at his unconscious one-time friend apparently deep in thought. After a long silence he finally spoke.

"He used to be a decent man."

It sounded like an apology or an explanation, Hermione wasn't sure.

"He might be a decent man once again," she said softly, not knowing what else to say.

Snape let out a harsh bark of laughter at that.

"Don't be naïve, Granger. Moody was right; there are some spots that don't come off…"

After that, Hermione didn't know what to say. It didn't seem like she was required to anyway. It was quiet.

"But I daresay," Snape continued suddenly, "Lucius will find himself developing a bit more of a charitable attitude towards Muggles and Muggle-borns in the morning."

"How went things at the Marstons?" she asked after a little while.

Snape's gaze switched from Lucius to her before he answered. "Everything went virtually as planned; the family was out of the house by the time Lucius and Avery arrived and the Aurors that took their place have not come to serious harm. I have not been spotted by Avery so he won't be able to connect me to this. Malfoy I knocked out before he had the chance to turn and see me."

"Virtually?" Hermione gently prodded.

Snape gave her a dark scowl. "Apparently the vase I hit Lucius over the head with was Mrs. Marstons' favourite."


	2. Lucius and a Mud eh Muggleborn

**Disclaimer**: If I were JK, some casualties in DH definitely wouldn't have occurred ;-). No profit being made either.

**AN**: It's been terribly long, I know. And maybe you were hoping this was once again an update to To Save a Malfoy. Which, despite appearances hasn't been abandoned. It's merely that there hasn't been much time for writing in my life recently. And the muse is annoyingly silent when it comes to my other story. So I just gratefully take what she has to offer. And get on with it.

Below, the second chapter of "A simple act of kindness" because so many of you requested of me to continue it. In it, Hermione goes to a ball, dances and calls Lucius Malfoy evil to his face.

Enjoy.

* * *

"You know, I'm really starting to doubt that this was such a good idea," said Hermione Granger as she looked uncertainly at Ginny Weasley from beneath her lashes. 

"Are you afraid the potion didn't work?" asked Ginny softly. She sat down on the dresser and peered concernedly at her friend.

Hermione picked up the hairbrush and idly plucked at a couple of hairs that had gotten caught. "No it's not the potion I'm worried about...Professor Snape made it after all..." There was silence for a couple of moments before she continued: "It is me that I worry about." She looked up at her red-haired comrade with a hint of panic in her eyes. "I don't think I can do this, Gin."

The youngest Weasley leaned forward and placed her hand against Hermione's upper arm. "Of course you can do this! You have been practising for weeks, Professor Snape's given you all those tips to work with… Besides, didn't you say yourself that the plan was sheer brilliance?" She gave her friend a cheery smile.

Hermione smiled wanly, placed the brush back on the dresser and got up.

"Yeah well, that was before I knew I was going to be the leading lady in all this!"

"Honestly Hermione, what other Muggle-born do you think they could have picked for the job?"

The brown-haired witch looked unhappily at her friend. "I know… I just don't think I am clever enough for this…I mean you know who we are talking about here."

"Look, you already managed to fool him once, I am sure this part of the plan will work splendidly as well. Besides there'll be loads of other people there tonight including Professor Snape. You won't be alone with him."

"I suppose," Hermione sighed.

"That's the spirit." Ginny glanced at the clock behind Hermione. "Good Merlin! You have to go!"

At that panicked exclamation the elder Gryffindor lifted her skirts a little and made a beeline for the door. She hurried down the stairs of number 12 Grimmauld place as fast as was humanly possible on the dainty little shoes she wore and came to a rather inelegant stop in front of the library door. She briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath, before pushing it open.

* * *

"Remember what I told you," murmured Snape without moving his lips. 

The witch standing at his side overlooking the Ministry's finest assembly room turned to face him with a serious, somewhat intimidated look on her face.

"I know. Inquisitive, elegant, seductive and miffed to be here with you," she summarized just as quietly.

He sneered at her and Hermione quickly turned away from him again. From their place at the banister they could look down on the floor below them, which was already full with witches and wizards in their most dazzling attire. Most of them were chatting seemingly amiably while some had already taken their place on the dance floor to perform some traditional wizard dances, which frankly reminded Hermione of Jane Austen novels.

Snape led her to the grand staircase, her hand on his arm. As they began descending it Hermione murmured: "How do I look?"

The dark-haired wizard kept staring straight ahead.

"Your attire is acceptable."

'Acceptable?' Hermione thought and felt her stomach tie itself into knots. To make matters worse, she could see that their 'target' was not only already present at the ball, but he had spotted them descending the impressive staircase as if they were visiting royalty and was subtly making his way over to them.

"Keep in mind Lucius is rather vain, Miss Granger, however he abhors mindless flattery."

The young witch was about ready to kick Severus Snape. If it had been within the realm of possibilities at that moment, she would have, but as it was she couldn't even glare at him, or make a snide remark; she had a role to play and she had better play it damn well.

As soon as they reached the bottom of the staircase, she withdrew her hand from her professor's arm, not so fast as to draw undue attention, but fast enough to show to the keen observer that she was somewhat adverse to his touch.

He sneered and half-turned his back on her to get himself a drink. He deliberately forgot to offer her anything. Hermione on her part busied herself with looking around at the lavish ballroom with its floating crystal chandeliers, ornamented woodwork and gleaming floor. There were arrangements of flowers in pale colours everywhere and the tables set up at the edges of the room looked exquisite.

Apart from the room itself the guests were also a sight to be seen. The ladies seemed to have entered into a contest as to who owned the most expensive and elaborate gown, while the gentlemen looked their very best in their dress robes. Although some were not quite to her taste, thought Hermione as she suppressed a shudder at an older wizard in vibrant green robes.

So engrossed was she in looking about the room that she didn't realise their little party of two had expanded to a party of three until she heard a smooth voice behind her.

"Severus, old friend, you are forgetting your enchanting escort."

As Hermione turned around she gave her face an expression of slight surprise, which wasn't all that difficult to attain. Not two feet from her stood Lucius Malfoy.

"You must forgive Severus, my dear," he stated while his eyes subtly took in her apparel, "he doesn't get much practise going out." She surreptitiously took a deep breath and once again thanked the gods that Ginny had helped her getting ready for this evening. She knew her hair looked impeccable for a change and her make-up, though subtle, enhanced her features beautifully. The gorgeous blood-red dress she wore fitted her like a glove and not even a man with the expensive taste of Lucius Malfoy would be able to find fault with it.

As his eyes flickered to the pale flesh directly above the bodice of the dress for a brief instant it certainly seemed that he approved. The blush that was supposed to rise to her cheeks came quite naturally.

As per the instructions on Pureblood customs she had received, she showed her respect to the Malfoy Patriarch (who clearly outranked her in the present company) by performing a formal curtsey for the first time in her life. Her independent spirit didn't protest as loudly as she would have expected, while she stood in front of him, knees bowed, one leg swept back and her head bowed submissively. She had to suppress the urge to snort as she gracefully righted herself.

Lucius' silver eyes watched her with interest as she bashfully looked down for a moment and smoothed her skirts. A soft pale hand was held out to her. Hermione looked up in confusion, even as her own hand started to move as if on its own accord. She offered her hand, palm facing down to the aristocrat, knowing full well that such a gesture would normally indicate they were equals or even that she outranked him. Somehow she doubted this was an honour that befell many women. Once again she felt like she had stepped into a time long past as the aristocrat in front of her practically purred:

"Allow me to introduce myself, my dear. Lucius Malfoy, your humble servant."

He bowed, bringing his lips close enough to the knuckles of her hand to make her skin tingle but never actually touching it. A perfect hand-kiss. Hermione was actually somewhat shocked by his cordiality and was quite speechless. She had never in her life been approached with this kind of impeccable manners which once again reminded her of times long past in the Muggle world. Maybe there was something to say for pureblood customs after all…

In the meantime, Lucius Malfoy had righted himself and was giving her his undivided attention. It was disconcerting and flattering all at once.

"I'm sure Severus has neglected to mention it, but it must be said that you look absolutely breathtaking."

At this point, professor Snape snorted, but Hermione pretended not to notice. She kept her eyes locked with the silver gaze levelled at her and she didn't have to act the almost childishly admiring look that was a mix between being awestruck and intimidated.

"You're too kind, good sir," she all but purred at him, the husky timbre of her voice quite unintentional. She hadn't meant to speak in such archaic terms either, which seemed more appropriate in a Shakespearian play than here, at the Ministry of Magic. However, whether it was her husky tone or her choice of words she couldn't tell, but her remark lighted a glint of something frighteningly similar to appreciation in the elder Malfoy's eyes.

"Severus," he called, attracting the other male's attention, his eyes however never leaving her face, "do introduce us." Despite the polite phrasing, it wasn't a question.

Hermione's shy smile came quite naturally here as well. The longer she was here, the more she felt as if she had gotten caught in a different world as the heroine of some classic romance novel. With Lucius Malfoy as the dashing male lead, naturally.

Severus Snape on the other hand, was entirely as she knew him in her day-to-day life. The smirk he displayed was exactly like the one he wore when he was about to inform Neville he had yet again confused two potions ingredients that weren't very similar at all. Even though this was the crucial part: within now and a couple of seconds they would know if their plan had succeeded or not. Unconsciously she held her breath as Snape turned to face her.

"May I introduce you to Lucius Malfoy?" he said flatly, not the least bit of interest in his voice as he gestured towards the pureblood wizard. Lucius, on the other hand, inclined his head towards her as was the custom.

Next, Snape turned to face his long-time friend.

"Lucius," he said, drawing out the pause a little, "might I renew your acquaintance with Miss…Hermione Granger."

If her identity surprised him at all, Hermione was none the wiser for it. His countenance kept the exact same mix of mild curiosity and amusement that it had held before. Of her own countenance, she could not be sure. She was trying her hardest not to show her emotions, but for all she knew she could have looked as if somebody had just signed her death sentence.

And then he spoke.

"Miss Granger." There was a slight pause. "Delighted to make your acquaintance." He bowed his head politely once again.

Hermione dared scarcely breathe, as she returned his bow with another curtsey, not trusting her voice enough to speak. Now it would become clear if all their scheming had paid off. Now they would discover if Professor Snape's claims of being able to 'bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses' were valid. They were on the verge of finding out if Lucius Malfoy had developed any tolerance for the company of Muggle-born witches. The young Gryffindor found she couldn't make herself look their target in the eye.

"Tell me, Miss Granger…" Lucius began in a neutral tone of voice. It reminded Hermione clearly of meeting him at Flourish and Blotts so very long ago, together with Harry and Ron. She remembered that his voice had sounded much the same then as it did just now. Preparing herself for the worst, she slowly raised her eyes to his light grey ones.

"…Is this your first ball?" He finished.

Hermione was so relieved she almost burst into hysterical giggles at that point.

"Yes!" She exclaimed, a little too enthusiastically. She blushed.

"I mean…yes, yes it is," she repeated, a lot more demurely. Inside, she was still bubbling with excitement. It had worked! He hadn't retreated as soon as he learned her identity. There was hope yet; they might sway one of Voldemort's most fervent supporters to their way of thinking...

"Well, I do hope you'll enjoy yourself, Miss Granger," Lucius Malfoy said smiling politely. "If you'll excuse me?"

Another short bow, to which she automatically responded and he was turning away from her.

"Severus, a word, if you please."

As the dark-haired wizard turned to follow his fair-haired friend, he managed to throw her a dark look over his shoulder, without the other wizard noticing. It looked as a what-the-hell-did-you-do?-look. And Hermione was none too grateful for it. As if she could help it that gentle persuasion combined with some nifty potions-work wasn't enough to change Lucius Malfoy's views. They had known it wasn't going to be easy from the very beginning.

Watching the two wizards retreat, leaving her standing quite alone in the middle of a ballroom, dolled up to look her finest with not even a drink to pretend to keep her busy, Hermione felt quite ridiculous. All those insipid notions of somehow having ended up in a Jane Austen novel had evaporated faster than you could say _finite incantatem_.

She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do now. And she was aware that an increasing number of curious looks were being sent her way. Oh why had she ever let herself get talked into this? She should have realised she would never be able to fit into this Pureblood corset they were trying to squeeze her into. She was fundamentally unsuited for it. As a matter of fact, she'd been an idiot to believe for even one second she might be able to fool Lucius Malfoy into believing she had any class at all. They were from different worlds….you might as well ask _him_ to step into Muggle London and blend in.

The trouble was: Lucius had seen her now, so she couldn't return to Grimmauld Place anytime soon without arousing suspicion. A quick look in their direction, showed her both wizards locked in conversation, their faces carefully blank, apart from the occasional polite smile. She wondered what Professor Snape would give Lucius as a reason for picking her to be his escort for the night.

Turning her head back to gaze out at the dance floor, lest she be discovered, she quickly decided that a visit to the ladies room was in order, if for no other purpose than to try and gain some of her composure back.

At the exact moment she was about to execute her plan, a male voice remarked somewhere in the vicinity of her right ear: "You look like you could use a drink." Simultaneously, a glass of champagne was held out in front of her.

She was about to give the man in question a scathing retort and a none-too-subtle suggestion about what he could do with his drink for all she cared, when the sight of a clearly amused Percy Weasley in impeccable clear blue dress robes brought her up short.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Hermione blurted out, immediately scolding herself for showing her emotions so clearly.

In any case, it only served to amuse Percy even more than finding her abandoned at the edge of the dance floor had. He drew himself up to his full height (which was significantly more than Hermione could boast, even in high heels) and threw her a pompous, self-assured look that was trademark Percy.

"I work at the Ministry, in case you had forgotten. I think the more obvious question would be what you are doing here."

Before she could even think to come up with an answer he continued conspiratorially: "But since I already know the answer to that question, why don't you take this drink and allow me to keep you company until your quarry comes back." At this, he threw a meaningful look in the direction of Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione was astonished. How in the seven hells did Percy know about this scheme of the Order?

Percy's smile faltered a bit at her disbelieving look and a note of sadness entered into his eyes. "Do you really think my father's the only spy here at the Ministry?" he queried softly.

Still, there was a seed of doubt…was it possible that he had deducted there was something going on between her and the elder Malfoy just by looking? He had always been rather observant. As if sensing her doubts, her redheaded companion leaned close and whispered almost inaudibly in her ear: "The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place."

"Now take the drink," he continued in a slightly louder tone of voice, pressing it into her unresisting hand as he resumed a normal stance. "Don't worry, it's only apple cider."

Hermione couldn't help the grin that started to spread on her features. Nor the tears that came to her eyes. "Oh Percy, I'm so happy," she said, blinking quickly to keep herself from openly crying.

"If apple cider makes you this happy, I'll be sure to get you another after you finish this one," he responded, deliberately misunderstanding her.

Hermione just smiled and took a small sip of the beverage.

"So tell me, how have you been?"

"I'm alright, I suppose," Percy answered lightly. "There's no need to ask how you've been doing: you look beautiful."

More out of habit than anything else, she answered by inclining her head slightly. And let the pleased smile that wanted to show itself work its way onto her face.

"Why thank you, Percy." She leaned over conspirationally. "I do believe this is the single most expensive item of clothing that I have ever worn. I'm scared to death I might spill something on it."

"It's worth the money, however much it cost. None of the men can take their eyes off of you. You even managed to snare Lucius Malfoy's attention and his tastes are exclusive."

"I did no such thing!" Hermione protested. "As soon as he realised who exactly he was conversing with, he didn't know how fast he had to get away."

"Ah, you'll have to forgive him," Percy said with a smile. Hermione was about to respond, when his continuing kept her from it. "You are the first woman he has shown any particular attention in years; he must have been shocked to find out you're Muggle-born."

"Years? Surely you must be mistaken." She discreetly threw a glance over her shoulder to where Lucius and Snape had been the last time she checked, only to find them gone. Damn it, this was not going the way it was supposed to.

"Trust me," said Percy, "I never saw him give anybody a hand-kiss, whether they outranked him or not. He was seriously interested in you, Hermione."

"Yes," she responded, "up until the moment he figured out who I was." She gave him a gloomy look, feeling once again that she had failed her assignment and within five minutes from entering too. It was not a feeling she was particularly acquainted with, nor did she wish to be.

"Come," her companion said, as he took the empty glass from her hand and handed it to a passing waiter. "Let's see if we can stir things up a bit, shall we?"

He walked a couple of steps backwards, so that he was standing on the dance floor. "You do know how to dance?" he teased as he held out his hand to her.

Hermione smiled as she recognized the song that had just started as a classic  
Viennese Waltz. She loved to dance. "You just make sure you keep up with me," she told him saucily as she smoothly slid into his arms and waited for him to take the lead.

Percy rocked them back and forth a couple of times in tune to the music, showing that he did indeed know how to dance, before the movement and pressure of his upper body told her they were off.

This, at least, was something that came quite natural to Hermione. As they spun around the edge of the dance floor, she allowed herself to get lost in the dance, her head held slightly backward, her hair getting caught in the breeze of their own creation. Percy was much better at dancing than she would have given him credit for prior to this evening.

She found that the dress she wore was lovely to dance in; the skirts, though seemingly heavy swirled around her legs with the fast movements of her feet, showing a tantalizing bit of ankle and lower leg to any who was watching them. She couldn't help but let out a delighted laugh at the feeling.

Unbeknownst to her, a pair of silver-grey eyes was watching her as she spun around the dance floor in Percy Weasley's arms, its owner having an unnecessarily tight grip on his snifter of cognac.

"Don't they make a lovely couple?" murmured Severus Snape beside him, smirking.

"I thought she was seeing the youngest," said Lucius, sounding disinterested, his eyes still on the couple on the dance floor.

"As far as I know, Miss Granger is quite…available at this moment," said the Potions Master, likewise watching Percy and Hermione.

"Although if she keeps this up, Weasley might be tempted to keep her. Not that I care. I didn't bring her with me willingly and I'm more than happy to see her in the arms of another man." At this last remark, his eyes darted to his friend, who was still looking at the dancing couple.

"She'd be a fool to accept," Lucius murmured. "She could do much better than Weasley."

"Meaning you?" asked Snape, dark humour evident in his tone.

"I suppose I could be persuaded to take her to my bed," the elder Malfoy commented lightly. "The divorce is all but final and I feel I deserve some cheering up. If only she didn't have such a poor taste in companions."

"The only reason she isn't dancing with you at the moment, dear Lucius, is that you were hell-bent on talking with me."

"Yes," agreed Lucius almost absent-mindedly, "that might have been a mistake."

As the couple he had been watching so avidly crossed the dance floor, this time obviously headed for a moment's rest and a nice cool drink, he subconsciously started to circle the dance floor, heading to intercept his prey at its edge.

"Oh my God, Percy, that was marvellous…" he heard her say breathlessly, while she rested her hand on her companion's shoulder and leaned into his body, as if in need of support. Her cheeks were glowing from the exercise and her radiant smile lit up her eyes. He had never seen her smile like that; it took her from beautiful to breathtaking.

Hermione was having a ball. Literally. She couldn't remember when she had enjoyed herself so immensely. For the time being, she had decided that she would allow herself some time to enjoy this ball, in the meantime giving herself some time to think on how to ensnare Lucius. If Percy was right, and the elder Malfoy had indeed been interested in her, then there must be something she could do to cultivate that interest.

As she stepped off the dance floor and accepted another glass of apple cider from Percy, her mind wasn't on her target however. She was merely thinking how she dearly loved to dance and that it was high time she picked up the old habit. Even after only three dances with Percy she was beginning to feel winded. She never used to tire this fast.

"Miss Granger."

That soft, mellifluous voice could belong to only one person. Hermione surreptitiously drew a fortifying breath, before turning to face him. Show time.

"Mister Malfoy," she greeted him, "Are you enjoying your evening?" she inquired politely.

"Very well, thank you." He gave her an appraising look from beneath his lashes and Hermione felt quite like the dear caught in headlights. Except that being in wizarding society there were no such things as headlights…. She caught her errant train of thought before it could derail any further.

Okay, so Percy had been right after all, or so it seemed. Question was, how far did this interest of his go? Had their conditioning taken hold of their unsuspecting victim to the point where he would accept her into his society?

"You seem to enjoy dancing," he remarked.

"I love to dance," replied she, allowing her enthusiasm to show through.

"Have you by any chance, been instructed as to how to dance a proper rumba?" There was just that in his tone of voice which fired Hermione's pride, unlike Percy's earlier teasing on the same subject. Arrogant bastard. Just because her parents were Muggles, didn't mean they didn't have the means to get their daughter _proper instruction_, as he put it.

"That depends," she answered, handing her glass to a rather bemused Percy and holding her right hand out to the proud man in front of her, "Do _you_ know how to properly lead?"

She'd put him on the spot now. If they had any onlookers, it would be inexcusably rude to deny her the dance. On the other hand, he'd proven time and again, that to reach his goals he didn't care much about the opinions of the general public. Hermione guessed it came all down to whether or not he was interested enough in her to accept her challenge.

The silver eyes that kept hers captive flicked to her outstretched hand, before returning to her gaze.

"Let's try, shall we?" he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers as he removed his outer robe, leaving him in something remarkably similar to a Muggle tuxedo. She felt his hand grasp hers firmly. Three steps and they were once again at the edge of the dance floor, but he didn't stop there. He took her to what must be close to the dead centre of the floor and took his position opposite her. She mirrored his position, her right hand still firmly clasped in his left.

At the right pressure, she began moving backwards, her hips swaying gently, her eyes fixed invariably upon his. A commanding pull had her moving in his direction again, closer and closer until, at the last moment he moved his hand, making her spin. They were so close that their clothes actually brushed, a whiff of his delicious cologne entering her nostrils in the process. She was glad that at the moment she was facing away from him.

The music wove its spell around them, as they walked around each other, looking each other in the eyes underneath their joined hands. Hermione swayed her way towards him, seduction in her eyes, only to turn away from him at the last moment, moving away from him. She'd show him a proper rumba. Proudly she met his gaze, then made a double turn first chance she got. He caught her neatly, as she suspected he would. Much as she would like to criticize his technique, there wasn't much to criticize. Like her, he appeared to be a little rusty, but as the dance progressed, both of them seemed to be slipping back into old patterns. Her movements got more dynamic, her spins faster, the shift between seduction and refusal ever more sudden and ever more dramatic. Lucius for his part seemed to enjoy making her spin faster, having her seduce and refuse him by turns, as the dance dictated, his frame strong and supportive, just the way a male dancer was supposed to be.

For the duration of the dance, Hermione was held in that silver gaze, seducing and being seduced in turn, her heart beating faster than the rhythm of the music, her movement breathtakingly fast, sure in the knowledge that he would catch her.

As the song neared its close, he had her doing a spectacular dip, moving her body in a graceful arc from left to right, before abruptly righting her against his body, keeping both of them frozen in their position.

Hermione felt as if she were regaining consciousness. During the dance, her world had narrowed down to this dance, this man. Now, as she found herself pressed against him from somewhere in the vicinity of her knees up to her midriff, both of their chests still heaving with their recent exertions, she discovered she didn't want to move at all.

Lucius Malfoy seemed to be suffering from a similar affliction. The hand that was splayed against her back underneath her shoulder blade wasn't moving. His cool grey eyes for once were blazing with a fire she wouldn't have imagined possible; there was the lightest touch of pink to his pale complexion and his impeccable hair looked as if windswept.

She couldn't help the smile that crept onto her face at that, pulling up one of her eyebrows arrogantly.

"Will that suffice to demonstrate whether or not I've had the proper instruction?" she asked slightly breathlessly.

"Well my dear, I don't think I have ever been the object of quite such a delicious seduction before," he remarked, his voice silky and much steadier than hers had been, damn him.

"As I see it though, the question is," he continued, moving his head so that his lips were all but nuzzling her ear, "are you willing to…follow through with it?"

Automatically, Hermione tried to pull back, to be able to look him in the eye, but the hand on her back exerted more pressure and forced her to stay where she was: her cheek almost touching his, the silver-blond hair obscuring most of her vision.

Her heart was beating an errant rhythm against her ribcage as she tried to get her breathing under control; was he propositioning her? Here? On the middle of the dance floor, at the Ministry no less?

And what was she supposed to be able to do about it? Much as she wholeheartedly agreed with the Order's plan to try and undermine Voldemort's power base by trying to corrupt his one-time second-in-command, she wasn't prepared to go quite _that_ far for king and country, so to speak. Not to mention that earlier that evening, he had turned away at the mention of her name alone, surely he hadn't changed his mind this quickly?

Before she had a chance to make a decision, the pressure on her back lessened and a moment later yet, she was standing quite alone. Knowing she must look stupid, but unable to suppress the urge regardless she stared after him as he made his way to the other side of the room.

Oh God, she had offended him. And just when she thought they were getting somewhere. Finally being able to avert her gaze, she turned away. That visit to the ladies room sounded awfully tempting right about now.

A hand on her arm stopped her progress and she turned to find the object of her thoughts giving her an enquiring look. He had gotten rid of his jacket as well now, leaving him in shirtsleeves and a silver waistcoat that complemented his eyes. The narrow cut of the garment left little to the imagination as to whether or not Lucius Malfoy kept in shape.

Hermione's attention was drawn to the high collar of the pristinely white shirt and the way its stark lines contrasted with the ivory flesh of his throat. Despite the minimal difference in colour, the last looked so wonderfully soft, that she had to forcibly suppress the urge to reach out and touch it.

In the back of her mind Hermione realised that once again she and her companion must be the centre of attention, but as it was by now wont to do, the world disappeared when she was caught in that silver regard. Without giving it a second thought, she responded to the slight tug on her arm.

He took her hand in his in such a way as to leave little to the imagination: they were going to share another dance. She hoped fervently that her cheeks were not as red as their warmth had her suspect they were; she'd never be able to hide the fact that she had believed him to have far more nefarious activities in mind than dancing.

"You'll have to admit, tango is a step up from rumba," he murmured, devilish lights dancing in the depths of his eyes.

Hermione couldn't keep herself from emitting a shocked little gasp as the implications of that statement sank in. He'd been talking about _dancing_? She leaned back, pressing her lower body against his in the process, her legs slightly bent in the knee. Fiery caramel shot sparks at icy silver as she regained the power of speech.

"Lucius Malfoy, you are _evil_." Her voice, in spite of intentions to the contrary, sounded more amused than actually angry. Her partner gave her that superior little smirk again, then surprised her by actually letting it change into outright laughing.

Haughtily, Hermione turned her head slightly to the left, gazing over his right shoulder. Inside her chest, her heart was beating an errant rhythm, her ears still buzzing with the darkly attractive sound that was Lucius Malfoy's laughter. Good God, what had she gotten herself into, she wondered as the movement of his left leg and the pressure of his lower body enticed her into a tango.

Despite her anxiety, a small part of her couldn't help but admire the man for how cleverly he had lured her into this particular trap. She had all but told him that she was interested in him, by agreeing to dance with him after that suggestive remark of his, in fact, everybody who had been watching the two of them would. And in the meantime she knew nothing of the sort with respect to him. Clever. Very clever indeed.

From the side, an unusual pair was watching them. Both Severus Snape's gaze as well as that of Percy Weasley were following their progress across the dance floor.

"They dance as if they've been dancing together for months," Percy remarked, watching as Hermione's chestnut curls and Lucius's smooth silvery mane were tossed almost perfectly in sync with the abrupt movements of their respective heads.

"It seems Miss Granger has succeeded in capturing his interest once again," dryly replied Snape, "the question is what is going to happen after I administer the antidote."

"Don't you think it's too soon? Shouldn't you give her some more time?" Percy asked, trying, for the outside world, to look as unconcerned as he could manage.

Snape threw a meaningful look at the couple that was once again standing against each other, as if frozen in time, at the end of their dance, smouldering caramel captured in glittering grey as well as vice versa. He pulled up an eyebrow. "The only way Lucius could make it any more perspicuous that he is interested in the girl, is if he were to copulate with her on the middle of the dance floor." He turned to look at Percy. "So no, Mr Weasley, I don't think it's too soon."

With that, he turned away from the third-eldest Weasley spawn and moved towards the couple that was leaving the dance-floor.

"You're a very gifted….dancer, Miss Granger," he remarked snidely, while he almost negligently passed a snifter of cognac to Lucius, the pause before the term 'dancer' well-timed and entirely intentional. Hermione threw him a murderous glance from underneath her lashes, the blissful feeling of dancing with the elder Malfoy completely and thoroughly ruined. The Potions Master merely pulled up an eyebrow, which left him with an even more sardonic expression on his face than he had already worn.

Before their staring contest could get out of hand, the sound of breaking glass pulled their attention inevitably towards the third member of their party. Lucius Malfoy's face was even paler than usual, a slightly shaking hand reaching out to the black-clad figure of his friend, grasping at his lower arm. At his feet, were the remains of the cognac snifter, it's contents spilled between the glittering shards of glass.

"Lucius, are you alright?" inquired Snape, as he vanished the mess and turned his hand palm upward, so he could support Lucius' elbow.

"A little light-headed," the blond replied. "Might we sit down for a bit?"

Hermione watched the aristocrat with some concern. Knowing that the symptoms Lucius was currently experiencing were an expected side-effect of the anti-dote made up the largest part of that concern.

When first Professor Snape had explained his plan, the other order members had opposed to it. They didn't want to risk Hermione, since she was the only logical choice for the leading lady in all this, they thought the plan was too subtle to have a chance to work and they protested that it would have to be executed perfectly in order to work.

Snape had responded by asking them when was the last time they remembered when Hermione did NOT perform perfectly on any assignment anyone had given her. From that moment on, she'd basically been on his side, really.

The others did have valid points though, the plan was finicky and unbearably subtle. But they were dealing with Slytherins here; subtlety seemed the only viable recourse.

Now though, after having doused Lucius Malfoy with a potion that allowed one to broaden their mind, look without long-held prejudices in the guise of your average Muggle…after having danced with him so passionately at a Ministry ball with numerous witnesses, as no-one but herself, a Muggle-born witch…after watching Professor Snape slipping him the antidote in plain sight, knowing that within minutes Lucius would be sole master of his own mind again and they would truly discover whether or not the glimpses of a Muggle and Muggle-born without the influence of his nurtured ideas on them had made any difference at all…

She could only conclude that she must have been daft, as Ron would put it, to ever go along with this. It was too late for second-guessing now though. She'd chosen her part and had no choice but to go through with it.

Gently, she put her hand on his arm. "Would you like some water, maybe?" she inquired. The slight wavering of his posture ebbed into nothingness under her touch and he looked at her. And even before he had the chance to say a single word, she had her answer by the look in his eyes.

"Miss Granger," he started, his voice insidiously soft, "kindly remove your hand from my person."

Violently suppressing the urge to point out to him that not ten minutes ago _his person_ had been plastered against her body and quite voluntarily too, Hermione let her hand drop to her side.

Professor Snape took control of the situation by leading Lucius away from her, towards the bar. A moment later Hermione felt Percy's consoling presence behind her.

"Hermione," he started, his voice soft and compassionate.

She held up a hand to stall any further comments. "Not now, Percy," she enunciated, her voice slightly throaty because of the ball of unshed tears that seemed to be blocking it.

She took a halting step in the direction of the bar, then another and another, until she was gaining on the two wizards, one light as an angel, the other dark as night, with at least a semblance of confidence.

Just as she was getting within range, she caught a snippet of their conversation.

"…just my imagination or did I really just _dance_ with the insufferable little Mudblood?"

The word, after the experiences she had shared with this wizard so very recently, hit her worse than a physical slap in the face might have. Without another word, she turned and made her way to the grand staircase, a lone tear making its way down from the corner of her eye unremarked as she fled like Cinderella from the ball.

Only she didn't leave her shoe for Prince Charming to find. Prince Charming, quite clearly, couldn't be bothered to regard her with anything other than disdain.

* * *

**AN**. For those of you who have seen V for Vendetta: when Nathalie Portman's character Evey tells V she thinks he is evil…that is the exact intonation of the word 'evil' I had in mind for when Hermione tells Lucius he is evil. 

There is a third chapter in the making, to complete this story. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I delighted in writing it. Please leave me your comments, I can't wait to find out what you all think. You have my gratitude.

SS (SnapeSeraphin, obviously ;-) )


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